


A Man About a Car

by lovetincture



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Impala (Supernatural), car kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26074402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovetincture/pseuds/lovetincture
Summary: It’s been awhile. They’re both keyed up, adrenaline-shocky from too many days chasing ghosts of rumors, too many near misses in too many towns, too many nights of missed sleep. They’re so tired they’ve come clean through the other end, wired andupin that way that’s just begging for release.This isn’t going to last long, but then, it doesn’t have to.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 66





	A Man About a Car

**Author's Note:**

> If you need a soundtrack for this, might I suggest [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iyh6_hSxMvo).

Dean pushes the seatbelt tongue into Sam’s mouth, the blunt, flat metal stretching his lips wide. Sam’s eyes slit shut, tongue slipping around the grooves of the seatbelt, poking through the hole as he licks it for all he’s worth.

“Fuck.” Dean’s voice is wrecked as it slips from his mouth. He runs his hand down his front, down to his dick. He squeezes it, groaning as he watches Sam fucking blow his Baby. “Fuck yeah, suck it.”

He grabs onto the end of the seatbelt and fucks it into Sam’s mouth, pushing it deeper to watch Sam take it in. He slides his free hand behind Sam’s head, holding him in place. Sam’s cheeks hollow out as he sucks, the sound wet and loud in the close, tight space.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes, thumbing at the corner of Sam’s mouth where drool is starting to run down.

His dick twitches in sympathy, like Sam really has his lips wrapped around Dean, like he can feel the sensations of the car itself.

He wrenches the seatbelt back suddenly. Too quick—he hears the clack of tooth on metal, sees Sam’s small wince—but fuck it. Fuck it. He fists his grip tighter in Sam’s hair, pulling his head back, controlling the angle so he can slot their mouths together, so he can lick up the spit that’s leaking from the corner of Sam’s lips, chase it back to its source.

He presses Sam down into the seat, knees spread on either side of him until Sam’s backed against the seatback, Dean practically sitting in his lap.

“Fuck, Sammy, yeah.”

Sam bites at his lips, wrapping his arms around Dean to grab at his back, his hands so big they span it easily, and fuck if that doesn’t get Dean hot. Sam gets a grip on Dean’s hips, yanks him down at the same time he bucks up, and then Dean’s cussing a blue streak and seeing stars.

“Yeah?” Sam asks, little growl in his ear as he fucks up in short, sharp thrusts, riding Dean through his jeans. He flicks out his tongue, a hint of wetness, slick and hot against Dean’s ear, and yeah.  _ Yeah. _

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

It’s been awhile. They’re both keyed up, adrenaline-shocky from too many days chasing ghosts of rumors, too many near misses in too many towns, too many nights of missed sleep. They’re so tired they’ve come clean through the other end, wired and  _ up _ in that way that’s just begging for release.

This isn’t going to last long, but then, it doesn’t have to.

Dean gets a hand between them to pop open the button of Sam’s jeans. He drags the zipper down, running his knuckles against the hot ridge of his brother’s hard-on. Sam hisses through his teeth, clamping down on Dean’s bottom lip and sucking in a way that makes his toes curl.

It’s always so fucking good.

Dean gets his hand inside, pushing aside boxers and layers of fabric, pulling Sam out as he mouths down the side of Sam’s cheek, his jaw, down to his neck. He gets his hand around Sam’s dick and squeezes just to see Sam’s eyelashes flutter, his mouth drop open, panting.

“I got you, baby brother,” Dean murmurs into his skin, working him the way he likes, watching Sam fight the noises that want to come spilling out, biting down on his own lip even after all this time, like there’s still anyone to hide from.

Sam’s head hits the back of the seat, his long neck bared for bites and kisses and little sucks. He’s hot and humid in his jeans, silk over steel, just starting to leak precome all over Dean’s fingers.

Sam hauls Dean off his lap after another second, putting him flat on his back with a force that makes all the breath leave his body in a huff. It’s hard as hell to fit in the car like this. The backseat might’ve been alright when they were leggy teenagers, but now it’s more cramped than anything—but fuck it, it’s still home.

Sam has to practically bend in two to stand up, one leg in the footwell, the other knee pressing into the seat. He undoes Dean’s jeans, eyes focused and intent. Dean lifts up his hips to help, to let Sam drag them down off his body, hissing when his cock springs free into the touch of open air. It’s a whole production, and Dean nearly knees Sam in the face more than once.

Sam grins down at him, low and devilish, and yeah. Fuck yeah, Dean can work with that.

Sam’s hands slide up into his shirt, beneath layers of flannel and soft-washed cotton, calluses catching along the sensitive skin of his belly. Dean moans, pushing up into the touch. Sam keeps at it, stroking his belly while his right hand slips lower. He gets a hand on Dean, and then a mouth, swallowing him down with no teasing.

“Fuck!”

Dean gets his hands in Sam’s hair, messing through long locks as Sam sucks him. His lips feel swollen and fat as they drag along his shaft, and fuck if the sight of his little brother’s head bobbing between his legs doesn’t still do something for him, even after all this time.

Sam lets Dean’s dick slip out of his mouth, hand catching it as he noses lower. He licks at Dean’s balls, doing something with the flat of his tongue that has Dean bucking against his face.

Sam kisses the inside of his thigh. Slaps it once for good measure. “Turn over.”

Dean is quick to oblige, popping up so fast that it makes Sam chuckle, soft and low. Dean gets up on his hands and knees, ass in Sam’s face, and Sam pushes him down, hand gentle and firm in the middle of his back.

Dean resists, even now. Even with his dick hard enough to pound nails, leaking against his Baby’s leather skin with how badly he wants it. He resists because there’s still something in him that wants to fight, always—that has a hell of a time letting go.

Sam doesn’t say anything, thank god, just pushes harder, hand big and firm and unyielding, and it wrenches a little whimper out of him, to be handled like this. He doesn’t say anything when it’s done, when he’s got Dean right where he wants him, cheek pressed to the seat, ass in the air. He just dives right in and licks a wet stripe up Dean’s crack, dives in like he’s starving.

They haven’t showered in days—not more than whores’ baths in truck stop bathrooms, a wet washcloth over skin in the woods to wipe off the worst of the sweat and grime—and Sam, neat freak Sam, health food granola Sam, is going to town on him, sucking and licking and eating him alive.

“Oh, holy shit.  _ Sam.” _

Sam’s grunted reply is lost in his skin, in the soft, wet tide of a tongue lapping at the most sensitive parts of him. Dean balances his weight on his shoulder and gets a hand around his own dick, wet where he’s leaking into the seats.

No, this is not going to take long at all.

“Kiss her,” Sam says, voice muffled as he says it, breath ghosting over Dean’s hole and making him twitch and ache. He leans down and rubs a hand through Dean’s hair, directing and firm and affectionate, and Dean moans because he knows exactly what Sam means.

His face is pressed to the seat, her lines cutting grooves across his cheek, impressions he’ll carry with him when this is done, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to turn his face and do what Sam says. He mouths at the worn leather, flicking out his tongue to taste.

This is their history, sweat and tears and bone and ash. These seats have carried their young and carried their dead.

_ “Baby,” _ he whimpers, and he swears he can feel the curl of Sam’s smile when he dives back in, apparently satisfied.

Sam licks him to a shuddering orgasm, two long, blunt fingers shoved up his ass. Dean mouths at his Baby’s seat, sighing satisfied when he feels a hot rope of come paint the back of his thighs, satisfied that Sammy’s followed right after. Just like it should be.

This’ll be hell to clean up. It’ll be sticky and uncomfortable in a minute, and his back will be screaming tomorrow, but hell. Baby’s seen worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't learned my lesson, somehow still on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/lovetincture).


End file.
